There are monkeys at the top of the mountain at Miashima. If you
stare at them they will bite you. They are very aggressive and will
try to steal food if you stop to picnic. But we are in love and the
view is grand. We hardly notice. We decide to walk down the
mountain.
The
trails wind and turn and we are soonlost but always take the turn leading
down, towards the sea. We come upon a settlement of monks living
in primitive huts. They lead us to a large smoky room under a thatched
roof. Mice dance I the straw. They dip porridge for us from
a large pot hanging over a smoky fire. They tell us the fire has
been burning for over 600 years. We eat the portage and turn to leave.
A monk walks in front of us, sweeping the path before us as we continue
down. I take your hand.